


Get Up

by cutsiecastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist!Dean, M/M, photographer!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4522299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutsiecastiel/pseuds/cutsiecastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel can't seem to stop running into the same boy with green eyes no matter where he goes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Up

**Author's Note:**

> this is loosely based off of the song Get Up by Mayday Parade

Castiel sees him first in New York. The beautiful boy with the green eyes and a splotch of pink paint dried on his cheek. He looked awestruck standing in the middle of Times Square, and Castiel had stopped for a minute to take his picture before carrying on.

The second time Castiel sees him, he doesn’t recognize him. It’s been four months and four thousand pictures since the snapshot of the beautiful boy with paint on his face captured his attention. He’s in Seattle this time and he sees a silhouette of a person outlined by the sunset and Castiel takes pictures of it as they move. He soon turns to capture the beauty of the city before him with his lens. It isn’t long before a boy with brown hair, and freckles splattered across his face approaches him, and asks if he’s photographer or a tourist.

“A little bit of both, I suppose.” It’s not a really a lie, but it’s not really the truth either. He’s an armature at best, and more of a drifter than a legitimate tourist. He doesn’t tell the boy though. “You have a bit of paint on your forehead, by the way.”

The boy’s hand flies up to rub at the yellow spot on his forehead and he grins. “Aw well. It happens. I’m Dean.”

Castiel is uncomfortable with the attention he’s receiving but he returns the favour of sharing his name. “People tend to call me Cas, though.”

The boy, Dean, nods. “Well, maybe I’ll see you again someday Cas.” He winks before turning and walking away, humming a tune off-key as he goes.

It isn’t until later that night that he remembers that green eyed boy standing awestruck in New York. Yes, he will see Dean again someday. Cas is sure.

The third, the fourth, the fifth time Castiel sees Dean he’s in Chicago, Vegas, New Jersey, and he takes a picture of him every time, and every time he has a different colour somewhere on his face; violet, then dark red, then the same green as his eyes. Cas should be suspicious of this strange boy who seems to have the same affinity for drifting as Castiel, but he finds his presence oddly soothing. He speaks to him every time from then on, though, and they laugh about what a coincidence it is. The fourth and the fifth time they run into each other Dean invites Cas out for burgers, a drink, a chance to learn about the boy he keeps running into.

On the sixth time, Cas accepts.

They’re in Vancouver, Canada, and Dean has blue paint on his left cheek.

“See, the nice thing about Canada is I don’t need a fake id to drink.” Dean says after ordering a beer. They’re at a restaurant in the downtown core and Cas feels oddly at peace.

“You’re under age?”

“Only for a couple more months.” Dean grins, thanks the server as she sets down his beer and pours Cas a coffee. “What about you?” He asks once she’s left.

Castiel tells him that he turned twenty-one a few months back, but he doesn’t drink much anyway. They go on like this, making small talk about non-consequential things before Cas asks, “Why is that every time I see you, you have paint on your face?”

Dean absentmindedly scratches at the blue spot. “I’m really awful with my paint. I, uh, I mainly draw but I paint sometimes but it always gets everywhere.”

‘You’re an artist?” Cas asks, intrigued.

Dean blushes and looks away. “I mean, I guess? Not a very good one, but.” He shrugs instead of finishing his sentence and when Cas asks if he could see some of Dean’s art, he runs a hand through is hair and rummages through his bag and Cas swears he can hear him humming something. Dean passes him a sketchbook for Cas to flip through.

The drawings are incredible. There are a bunch of sketches of a car; a ’67 Chevy Impala Cas is pretty sure, but then there are beautifully detailed drawings of a blonde woman with blue eyes. Sometimes she’s alone, sometimes she’s with an older man, sometimes she’s with a small boy, but she’s always the focus and the attention to detail is stunning. Dean tells him it’s his mom and that she passed when he was four. Cas tells him he’s sorry and that she was beautiful and Dean shrugs him off, but Cas can tell that the praise means a lot to him. There are also sketches of a young boy with floppy brown hair and hazel eyes who seems to grow a day older every time Cas flips the page. Dean tells him it’s his brother and Cas can hear the pride in his voice as he talks about him for a bit.

Cas goes to flip the page and Dean chokes on a “Wait!” and reaches as if to take the sketchbook away from Cas but cringes instead.

It’s a sketch of him. A half painted sketch that is obviously meant to be him. “That’s not half bad considering we’ve only spoken to each other five times.” Cas glances at Dean through his eyelashes and grins. He hands the sketchbook back to a flustered Dean and tells him that he has a couple photos of him too so they’re even.

They eat their food, they order desert and they’re still sitting there talking about nothing and everything and Cas hasn’t felt so damn happy just _talking_ to someone in ages.

“Come with me.” Cas says all of a sudden. It’s dumb. It’s reckless. It’s insane, and idiotic, and impulsive. It’s everything his family would shame him for. It’s freeing.

Dean’s eyes twinkle as he leans across the table conspiratorially. “Now, Cas, are you sure that’s such a good idea? For all you know, I could be a serial killer or something.”

Castiel shrugs. “You could be. However if you were going to kill me, you’ve had five opportunities to do so. Plus, if you _did_ come with me, you’d have ample opportunity to finish your painting of me.”

Dean laughs and leans back to stare at Cas. “You’re serious?” Cas raises and eyebrow and nods. “Alright. Fine. Life on the road was getting kind of lonely anyway.”

And just like that it’s settled. They pay, they leave, they agree that they only need one car if they’re really gonna do this and so Cas sells his van and they stow their crap in the Impala. They go through Stanley Park the next day and Cas takes some nice photos and Dean sketches and they leave the next day. They go on like this; driving around the continent, Dean drawing, Cas photographing every moment he can. He’s got hundreds of pictures of Dean now, at least one from every city they visit, coast to coast, and sometimes Cas will catch Dean sketching him and everything is good.

And maybe Castiel falls a little more in love with this beautiful boy with every picture he snaps, and maybe his affections are a little too obvious, but if they were Dean never seems to mind. And maybe the Day marriage is legalized in all states and Dean jokes about them getting married because “think of all the benefits man!” Cas’s heart skips a beat.

They end up in New York one day and Cas tells Dean about the first time he saw him here, and today Dean doesn’t have any paint on his face for the first time ever and it’s somehow wrong to Cas. They’re sitting on a park bench when Dean asks to borrow Cas’s camera for a second and he’s obliged. It takes Dean a second to position it and Cas thinks _“is he really going to take a selfie?”_ when all of a sudden chapped lips are pressed against his and Dean’s breath is warm and the kiss is clumsy with clashing teeth and bumping noses but Dean seems triumphant when he takes a look at the picture. He turns to show it to Cas but instead of looking, Cas just pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him properly.

Nothing changes really. They still travel together and Dean still draws and Cas still photographs but they hold hands when they’re walking now and they get to kiss each other and life is good for them both.


End file.
